


you are easy to be around (you belong to no one)

by silpium



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Coming Out, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hinata Shouyou-centric, M/M, content warnings in opening notes!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 00:02:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19139536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silpium/pseuds/silpium
Summary: Kageyama's selfish, arrogant, and completely dismissive of anything Hinata says and does, even when they have to work together for Sawamura to let them back into the club. It’s beyond frustrating. At the same time, Hinata isn’t used to people not expecting anything from him; or, in Kageyama’s case, expecting just as much from him as he does himself. Even his classmates—the ones that don’t care about their grades, anyway—will shove work off on him in group projects or want to copy his homework. That’s not even mentioning Hinata’s family.The sudden absence of it—of all the obligation and expectation—whenever he’s around Kageyama is palpable. And maybe, amongst that discomfort of not having expectations to guide his behavior around, there might be a hint of fondness.Or: as a child, Hinata finds that the easiest path to happiness is to make others happy, instead. But once he's sprouted from the concrete, he has to grow, too.





	you are easy to be around (you belong to no one)

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings:
> 
>   * themes of depression, anxiety, trauma, and child abuse (neglect, emotional) 
>   * (internalized) homophobia, suggestion of conversion therapy that is not expanded upon
> 

> 
> i mostly got interested in the idea of people-pleaser hinata in that i relate to him a lot/model myself on his positive, cheery personality, but a lot of that is because i want to be a positive influence for other people/have them like me, and it got me thinking: what if that’s why hinata is the way he is, too? where’s the line between traits that are born because someone wants to please others and traits that are genuinely part of a personality? thus came along this fic! i hope you enjoy it!!
> 
> oh, and the inspiration for this fic was the song “easy to be around” by diane cluck, which is where the title is from! i strongly recommend listening to it! it’s actually all i listened to as i wrote this fic, since it super helped get me in the zone, hehe

When Hinata was born, he survived by the scrape of his teeth. His grandmother rarely speaks about it, his mother even less. The one thing his grandmother will tell him is this: “We're blessed that you're here with us."

Hinata has tried to get them to tell him what happened. The first time he asked his mother, her face turned all red and splotchy, her gaze ugly and festering. She asked him to go to his room. Her expression made Hinata's heart ache, and he realized quickly that he never, ever wanted to see that expression on his mother's face ever again.

He wouldn’t ask, not after that, so he doesn't know. But what he does know is this: he is lucky to be here.

/ * \

Whenever Hinata comes back inside from playing and has amassed countless freckles dusting across his cheeks, arms, and collarbones, his grandmother tells him this: "They're angel kisses, you know, Shouyou."

Hinata always looks up at her with wide eyes, tilting his head to the side. "What d'you mean?"

"It means someone up there loves you and is always watching over you, dear." She would bend down to be at eye-level with him, smile fond yet a little sad, before gently wrapping her arms around him. And Hinata would hug her back with all the might his tiny little arms could muster.

Hinata doesn’t quite get it, even if she's explained it thousands of times to him. Still, it makes him feel special, wanted, important. It sticks with him.

/ * \

Hinata learns early on that making people happy makes him happy, too. He always lends his crayons to the other kids in his class, even if he _really_ needed that green to color in the trees in his drawing. He always makes sure to bring extra snacks and sweets with him to share from home, even if they’re his absolute favorites. It’s hard, sometimes, but always worth making his classmates so excited.

What’s difficult is making his classmates happy when they’re sad. Hinata can give them all the crayons he has and they still won’t stop crying. Eventually, he tries a different approach: he tries being happy _for_ them, like a proxy. Hinata’s mother always gets upset whenever he starts crying, so maybe happiness works the same way?

The first time it works, laughter bubbling up out of Megumi’s soft sniffles, Hinata beams without a second thought.

/ * \

Hinata’s father rarely comes home. Something to do with his job, probably, but Hinata’s mother and grandmother never bring it up, so he’s not sure. He tried asking his mother about it once, when he was younger, but his mother got that ugly look in her eyes—wretched and pained and defeated all in one—that Hinata has a visceral hate for.

He backpedaled, saying “But I don’t really care that much, y’know—it’s not that big a deal,” so quickly that he barely heard himself. The look in his mother’s eyes eased ever-so-slightly, so he kept going: “Actually, nevermind! Y’wanna hear how my day at school went? We were learning how to multiply, right, and…”

His mother’s gaze softened, as though the pain never existed. Something shifted: the fact that he had the ability to heal slotted into place like a puzzle piece, twinging nice and sweet.

/ * \

Even though Hinata is always so cheery and excited, something that’s become ingrained and natural within him by that point, he can’t seem to make or keep any friends. There’s people who buddy up to him for a while, that make Hinata think that maybe he’s doing this right. Then they fade away the same way the sunset melts into the horizon: seamless, natural, inevitable.

Hinata doesn’t really get it. Don’t people want to be around someone who’s happy, not someone who’s a downer all the time? Don’t people want to be around someone who makes them happy, like Hinata always strives to?

No matter how much he thinks of it, he can’t come up with any answers, and it’s not like he can ask his mother about it. Hinata knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would crush her. 

(Hinata sometimes hears her cry through the joined walls of their rooms. He would give anything, _anything_ , to make her happy again. He’s doing his best.)

Hinata makes peace with it, though, in his own way. Maybe he doesn’t have anyone now, but he will, eventually. He’ll keep a smile on his face until he does.

/ * \

Volleyball fills a hole in Hinata’s life that he hadn’t even realized was there. It becomes the friend he’s never had—he has Izumi and Koji, of course, but to call them friends isn’t exactly right. They’re a bunch of jagged edges that don’t fit, not even with each other, but have molded themselves just well enough that they can slot together without clicking.

But volleyball fills those gaps that Izumi and Koji can’t—or won’t. For the first time in Hinata’s life, he is whole, bursting with energy. The feeling of a receive done just right, of a spike centered perfectly on his palm—it’s _perfect_ , the most fulfilling.

Happiness derived from something genuine is different, somehow. As gentle as a breath of fresh air, filled to the brim with that sense of rebirth. _Freeing_.

Hinata isn't lonely, not anymore. No, this is more than he could have ever imagined.

/ * \

Volleyball brings about a lot of firsts for Hinata: the first time he understood what it was like to be obsessed with something, the first time he just couldn't wait to get out of class for something, the first time he wanted something so bad that his hands shook. He's never associated anything negative with volleyball, not really. It's not like the distance between him and his classmates didn't exist before he became known as the volleyball freak.

Volleyball is a big amalgamation of everything he loves. It’s no wonder it becomes so ugly when Hinata meets the King of the Court and he asks Hinata, "Why are you even here? So you can have some _fun memories_ of your last year?" 

Hinata's hands tremble—out of fear? sadness? anger?—so badly that the tremors seem to work their way right up his body and make his voice shake. "I'm here to win, nothing else."

It's the first time he's truly stood up for himself, ever. There's something about this King of the Court that makes Hinata boil with an unfamiliar, frightening anger. Hinata hates how he can warp the bubbly passion Hinata had for volleyball. It's not his right to take this away from Hinata, to give it such a cruel and vile edge. Who is he to make Hinata feel like this, instead of buoyant and positive—

He shouldn't— _can't_ feel this way, but the more he lingers on it, the angrier he gets. His indignation settles deep in his bones, stronger for that he's refused to let himself feel it for years.

/ * \

Hinata's team loses the match.

He doesn't let himself cry. The tears burn and prick at his eyes, but it's an ingrained reflex, by now, to block them out.

But he cries when he swears to the King of the Court that he'll be the last one standing.. Still, his words— _if you want to be the last one standing, become strong_ —echo in Hinata's mind as Hinata hears Izumi and Koji's hurried footsteps behind him, and he takes a shuddering breath as he composes himself.

"Thank you," he tells them, and nobody mentions his red-rimmed eyes.

( _Become strong_ , even stronger than he is now.)

/ * \

Hinata’s mother is barely holding back tears as she tells him that she and his father are getting a divorce. It’s been a long time coming, but how his mother and Natsu will hold up? Hinata’s mother has never been happy with his father, but she’s also told him she’s not sure what she would do without him, either.

“It's okay, Mom,” he tells her, standing up to hug her. “I’ll—I’ll make it all better. I’ll make you and Natsu happier than you can even imagine. Just you wait.”

His mother smiles down at him as she wraps her arms tight around him, blinking away her tears. There’s trust, hope, in her gaze. He can’t let her down.

/ * \

After his father leaves, there’s not a single belonging left behind, not a single photo left up, as though he’s never existed. Both Hinata’s mother and Natsu cry a lot. Sometimes Hinata wishes for a cruel, ugly moment that he never did exist before pushing the feeling far, far away.

“You’re the man of the household, now,” his grandmother tells him. “It’s your responsibility to take care of your mother and sister.”

( _Become strong._ )

His mother doesn’t leave her room much nowadays. Hinata hears her crying more than she ever did before. He does his best to cheer her up whenever she does work up the energy to leave her room, with soft smiles and hugs and her favorite home-cooked meals.

(Her smiles don’t quite reach her eyes. Hinata swears he’ll make her want to smile genuinely someday.)

Natsu, too, has withdrawn into herself. It’s weird, because it’s not like she ever knew their father much, but maybe it’s the mood that’s descended over their home—somber, like someone’s died—with everyone walking on eggshells. Natsu’s always been a sensitive kid, just the same as Hinata was.

So Hinata makes time more time for her than ever, picking her up from daycare—their mother is usually too exhausted to—and surprising her by taking her to the park, or out for ice cream. Tiny little things that he hopes will build up. Natsu’s smiles may be genuine, and she may laugh clear as bells whenever Hinata whispers to her that he’s taking her on an adventure today, but it always fades as soon as they step back into their house.

Hinata won’t stop trying, though. No, he’ll just steel his heart— _become strong, become strong_ —and try again tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that, until everything is okay.

/ * \

The thing about Kageyama is that he makes Hinata all ugly and twisted, both inside and outside, spitting out challenges and lashing out and then some on a hair trigger. Hinata isn’t sure if he hates Kageyama so much as he hates the way Kageyama makes him feel.

Besides, he’s selfish, arrogant, and completely dismissive of anything Hinata says and does, even when they have to work together for Sawamura to let them back into the club. It’s beyond frustrating. At the same time, Hinata isn’t used to people not expecting anything from him; or, in Kageyama’s case, expecting just as much from him as he does himself. Even his classmates—the ones that don’t care about their grades, anyway—will shove work off on him in group projects or want to copy his homework. That’s not even mentioning Hinata’s family.

The sudden absence of it—of all the obligation and expectation—whenever he’s around Kageyama is palpable. And maybe, amongst that swirling discomfort of not having expectations to guide his behavior around, there might be a hint of fondness. 

Hinata might start seeking it out, pushing practices longer than they need to go. Even though it’s unpleasant, like a shoe on the wrong foot, it’s also wonderful to not have to watch every step and every word, to not fret over every little detail. It doesn’t really make sense: he absolutely doesn’t like Kageyama and how brutish he is, but there’s something about him that’s different, special.

Kageyama tosses to him, cutting through the air cleanly. Hinata sees with perfect clarity how the freeness volleyball brings and the weightlessness Kageyama brings intersect—no, how they overlap, a perfect circle.

In volleyball, Hinata has only ever had his own expectations and wants to carry around. Anything Kageyama may expect from Hinata is what Hinata already expects from himself tenfold. They both possess the same addictive freedom that Hinata has come to love with every fiber of his being.

As the ball hits the floor with a satisfying thud, Hinata thinks that maybe Kageyama isn’t so bad, after all.

/ * \

They grow close quickly, after that. Hinata finds himself yearning to be in Kageyama’s presence more and more often as the weeks go by, and Kageyama lets him stay by his side.

It’s getting easier, as time goes on, to speak his mind. The banter comes easily, and the teasing insults come along, after the first few stutters that Kageyama gives him weird looks for. 

_He won’t get mad_ , Hinata has to tell himself. _He doesn’t care. This is how—this is how you make a friend._

Then: _a friend?_ Being himself freely around someone, not having that constant, looming fear, slotting together just so without having to change himself—and, _yeah, this is what having a real friend is like._

He can catch Kageyama looking over at him fondly, sometimes. Maybe Kageyama feels the same.

Of course, none of that is to say that he doesn’t still have that fear. No, it still eats at him, makes him stand ramrod-straight up whenever he makes a mistake during a practice match with his face flushed and hands balled into fists, makes him nod a little too eagerly and bow a little too deep whenever Sawamura or Sugawara talk to him. 

He has something to prove, something to lose. He has to be good enough.

Or—maybe he doesn’t, as he comes to realize in the aftermath of when his serve hits the back of Kageyama’s head. Maybe his teammates don’t really care, either, so long as he’s trying his best. Maybe they don’t expect anything more of him than that.

It is a slow start towards change, but a start nonetheless.

/ * \

“You’re easy to be around,” Kageyama tells Hinata one day, as they’re walking home together. He commented that Kageyama hasn’t had that stupid, constipated look on his face around him in a long time. “Sometimes, it’s like I’m not even walking beside you.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Hinata doesn’t mean to sound so indignant.

“I don’t know.”

Hinata stares at him.

“Stop looking at me like that, dumbass. I said I don’t know.”

Hinata keeps staring at him.

“Ugh, fine, I guess it’s like—like—you know when we’re in a match and I don’t even have to look at you to know where to toss the ball?” Kageyama’s done it a number of times, and even though it’s amazing, it just feels _right_ that he can. “It’s like that. I don’t have to think about it to be with you, like I do with Nishinoya or Sugawara. It just… comes naturally, I guess, is what I’m trying to say.”

Hinata hums thoughtfully. “I _guesssss_ it’s the same for me,” he says, playfully, bumping into Kageyama’s shoulder. “Though you sure make it hard sometimes. You know, like when you wanted to _receive, set, and spike all by yourself_ —” 

Kageyama flushes bright red, both in anger in embarrassment. He tightens his grip on his bag and snaps, “Dumbass, that was—”

“I know what that was! That was you showing your true colors, Yamayama—hey! Don’t get that look on your face! You know I’m right!” Hinata can’t help but laugh, grinning wide, and even if Kageyama won’t admit to it later, he laughs, too.

An small inkling of unease spreads throughout Hinata, though, sitting with him until he’s lying in bed that night. _You’re easy to be around. It’s like I’m not even walking beside you._ His classmates used to say things like that in elementary school: how Hinata was their favorite friend because he was always so nice and giving. Like he was only a mirror for everyone else to see themselves reflected in.

Has he been doing that with Kageyama by accident this entire time? Is that what Kageyama thinks, too? 

It makes him sick to his stomach.

/ * \

Hinata goes to practice, but he might as well not have. It might have been better if he didn’t, actually. He and Kageyama are like oil and water that day. Hinata can’t focus, and every time he looks at Kageyama, a bolt of fear, of nausea, runs through him—he misses every toss Kageyama sends him.

Kageyama is getting visibly more and more frustrated with him; Hinata’s palms are only getting sweatier and sweatier every time he looks over at Kageyama’s face, pinched in anger. Something is going to break soon, and after one more missed toss—

Kageyama walks up to him, heavy footsteps resounding in the gym, and stands dangerously close to him. “What is wrong with you today? Can’t you get your head out of the clouds and focus?”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Hinata squeaks, stepping back and avoiding Kageyama’s eyes. Kageyama’s _angry_ with him. Nausea curls through Hinata’s whole body, because he shouldn’t be making anyone angry or upset, that’s not okay, that’s not—

“That’s enough!” Ukai’s voice rings through the gymnasium, and like a switch being flipped, Hinata can breathe again. “Hinata, sit on the bench until you work whatever this is out. Kageyama, talk with me for a second.”

Hinata walks over to the bench, staring down at his feet the whole while. He watches practice unfold so smoothly without his interference, and for a second—

Sugawara sits down beside him, interrupting his thoughts. He slid out of practice so seamlessly that Hinata hadn’t noticed. “Hinata, do you maybe want to take a walk with me?”

Hinata blinks. “Um, uh—sure! Where are we going?”

Sugawara smiles at him gently. “Let’s just see where we end up.”

They exit the gym together, Hinata not daring to look back and see Kageyama’s reaction, and walk for a while in silence around the school. There’s a lush forest surrounding it that makes for beautiful walks. Hinata still finds himself looking around like a child even now. The silence is a little anxiety-inducing, because Hinata isn’t sure what Sugawara wants or expects from him, but he follows behind him, waiting for a cue.

Eventually, Sugawara breaks the silence: “You looked actually scared of Kageyama, back there.”

Hinata bites the inside of his cheek. “Um, I was.”

“Did something happen between the two of you? You don’t have to tell me, of course.”

“It’s complicated,” Hinata hedges. “I wouldn’t want to bother you with it.”

“Not a bother,” Sugawara says easily. “That’s what your upperclassmen are for, you know.”

Hinata stares at the ground instead of replying, watching the rhythm of his feet—one, two, one, two, one, two.

Eventually, Sugawara tries a different approach. “You seem to worry a lot about what other people think of you. You act so formal around Daichi and I, you know, and you don’t have to be—or, well, around me, at least.” He shoots a sly smile towards Hinata. “But, really, it’s fine to disagree with us, or to express yourself. That’s what being on a team is about.”

Hinata freezes in place. Sugawara doesn’t notice, at first, and stops just a few steps ahead of him. Hinata bites the inside of his cheek again, harder this time. 

Sugawara takes a few steps back closer to Hinata, smiling gently. “Did I hit the nail on the head, there?”

“Maybe a little,” Hinata laughs, weakly, because he can’t just lie to Sugawara. “But it’s not like…” He trails off, not able to think of anything to say.

“I used to be the same way, when I was younger. I wanted to make everyone like me so badly, you know? I had to please everyone. But…” He levels his gaze with Hinata, serious. “It ended up hurting me in the process, which hurt the people that cared about me. And that was unacceptable.”

Hinata looks back at him, unable to break eye contact. 

“It’s hard to break out of, I know. It’s so ingrained in everything you do and think that it’s like asking it to snow during summer. But it’s okay to see yourself as your first priority. It doesn’t mean you care about everyone else any less.”

/ * \

Maybe Sugawara is right; maybe he _does_ deserve to be put first, if only for the sake of not hurting Natsu and his mother by burning himself out. It’s a strange idea, that maybe he should drop what’s been the core aspect of his behavior for so much of his life—like not playing volleyball anymore, or not loving Natsu. It just doesn’t seem possible. And after all this time, can Hinata even change that if he tries?

At the same time, he’s been waiting so long for someone to tell him that maybe he doesn’t have to hold that burden, that he doesn’t need to be the one everyone looks to in their need. And finally, finally hearing it triggers a cascade of want, of need. Has the impossible ever stopped him?

During that period, he and Kageyama don’t really talk at all. Kageyama’s absence is just wrong. It’s just not how things should be. Things should change back to the way they were. 

But not exactly how they were. Suddenly, desperately, he wants Kageyama to like him for who he is, not the persona he puts up to make people like him. He wants the team to like him for who he is, too, but Kageyama—Kageyama is special, somehow.

(Hinata isn’t so sure what to make of that, but it’s probably got something to do with that Kageyama is his best friend—of course he would want Kageyama to like him above all else.)

Soon enough, Hinata corners Kageyama after practice. Kageyama is visibly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t say anything as Hinata drags him out of the gym and eventually reach a quaint little clearing at the edge of the woods that Hinata likes. There’s a couple of makeshift log benches there, and Hinata sits down on one, putting his bag on the ground. Kageyama just kind of stands there, so Hinata pats the space next to him. Kageyama sits, taking a second too long to put his bag down.

“So,” Hinata starts. Kageyama stays silent, still. “The other day, when you said I was easy to be around, what did you mean?” He leans forward on his elbows, turning to look at Kageyama.

“Is that what this is all about?” Kageyama visibly relaxes, finally making eye contact with Hinata again. “I told you what I meant when I said it, dumbass.”

“Yeah, but—” Hinata chews his lip, thoughtful, before he continues. “What do you mean by that ‘it comes naturally,’ though? Do you mean that…” He hesitates, glancing towards his feet, the way the dirt beneath their feet scuffs the white of his sneakers. 

“I mean that…” Kageyama says, slowly. “I mean that I feel comfortable around you. You’re just that kind of person who puts people at ease.”

“But what does that _mean_? What am I to you?”

Kageyama suddenly looks away from him, intertwining his fingers in his lap. “You’re Hinata, idiot. You’re—my partner, like an extension of me.”

Hinata’s gaze is fixed on the ground, knuckles white as they grip the bench. The wood is rough and scrapes his palms just enough to be uncomfortable, but he doesn’t care. “Is that—all I am? An extension of you? Just—”

“What?” Kageyama scoffs. “What are you talking about? Of course you—”

“I want to be my own person,” Hinata says, voice tiny and fragile. “I don’t want—I don't want to—”

“ _Listen_ to me, dumbass,” Kageyama cuts in, voice scathing. “You aren’t just an extension of me. I’m an extension of you, too—”

“I don't _want_ that!” Hinata’s voice is loud, too loud in the empty clearing, and hearing himself say it hurts. “I want the strength to stand on my own, be my own person, not just a mirror or someone else's positive influence, and I’m—” His voice cracks, ugly and embarrassing. His throat is tight, too, but he refuses to cry. “I’m tired of it.”

Kageyama is quiet for a moment that seems to last years. Hinata is sniffling, blinking his tears away furiously. 

“You’re such a dumbass,” Kageyama says eventually, and Hinata almost laughs at the absurdity of it. “You already are your own person. And you definitely don’t as a player, but you already have the strength to stand on your own as a person. Who’s the one who had the guts to call me out in middle school? Who’s the one who dared Oikawa-san to serve directly at him?”

Hinata stays quiet. Kageyama does, too, as though he's run out of fuel. 

Lastly, after a long, long moment, he adds: “Of course you’re more than a mirror or a positive influence or whatever it was you were worried about. You’re my partner, and I wouldn’t be partners with someone who was spineless.”

Hinata lets the words float in the air, lets them soak into his skin. Slowly but surely, they do.

/ * \

Next practice, when Kageyama tosses to Hinata, Kageyama doesn’t even have to look at him to toss it perfectly into his palm.

Hinata spikes it, and Kageyama’s words—I’m an extension of you, and you're an extension of me—ring in his mind. Maybe that isn’t necessarily as bad a thing as he thought, being so connected to one another, being so whole.

/ * \

Hinata goes over to Kageyama’s house the weekend after that. They haven’t been to each other’s houses before: Hinata just doesn’t feel comfortable mixing those two aspects of his life and, besides, Kageyama is Kageyama.

That’s not to say they haven’t practiced outside of school together, because they have, but Kageyama’s never extended the invitation so far before. Hinata can’t help but freeze for a second when Kageyama tacks on an “at my house” at the end of his invitation to “practice together after school on Friday.” Kageyama’s house? His family? That’s unprecedented, untread territory. Usually that would make Hinata nervous, yet he’s as bubbly as shaken seltzer water, about to burst with excitement.

“Ooh, Kageyama-kun’s house! So _mysterious_ —”

“Shut _up_ ,” Kageyama hisses. “It's just a normal house. It being mine doesn't make it special.”

Hinata argues against it jokingly, saying only a palace is fit for a volleyball prodigy. But it being specifically Kageyama's house does make it special, for some reason. Hinata’s heart is doing something funny, swooping in his chest as he mumbles a “pardon the intrusion.”

Kageyama glances back at him. “I told you my grandmother doesn't come back home until late.”

“It’s just something you do, Bakageyama! Don’t you have manners?”

Kageyama rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Do you need anything to drink before we go outside?”

“Nope!” Hinata shakes his head a little too quickly. Anxiety is stuck firm in his dead-center of his chest, worming its way throughout him. “C’mon, let’s get started already!”

They practice together—satisfying, as always—until the sun rests deep in the sky and the backyard door opens, a voice interrupting them. “Have you boys been playing ever since you got home from school?”

Hinata misses his receive as he turns to glance at the sound. There’s an old woman standing there, smiling kindly at them. 

“Yeah,” Kageyama responds, bringing up the collar of his shirt to dab at his face. “I told you that Hinata likes volleyball as much as I do.”

“That's something I have to see to believe!” Her smile grows wider, fondness melting into it. “But you kids deserve a break. It’s been hours, and you must be hungry—oh, Hinata-kun, you should stay for dinner. You’d be starving by the time you got home.”

Hinata stands up straight, glancing quickly between Kageyama and his grandmother. “Oh, I couldn't possibly—”

“You don't have to be so formal, idiot,” Kageyama says. “Stay if you want. It's fine.”

Kageyama’s grandmother sends him a chiding look. “I wouldn't put it like that, but Tobio is right. It’s really no bother.”

“If you insist. Let me just call my mother first.”

Hinata hasn’t skipped being home for dinner even once since before he took over cooking meals. His mother swears up and down that _it’s fine, Shouyou—we can take care of ourselves for one night, and I want you to have fun with your friend_ , but Hinata still feels guilty about it.

Dinner is—nice, homely in a way that Hinata isn’t used to. Kageyama’s grandmother is a great cook, better than Hinata, and she dotes on him throughout the meal, asking him this and that. It’s pleasant until Kageyama’s grandmother asks him about his family.

That’s Hinata realizes a few things, all at once:

  1. He doesn't want Kageyama to know about his family. He doesn't want Kageyama’s pitying or maybe even judgmental looks. 
  2. The reason he's been so jittery all night is because he wants Kageyama to like him. He already knew he wanted Kageyama to like him more than he wanted anyone else to like him, but this is different, like an off-white when it should be pure— 
  3. Oh, no. 
  4. He likes Kageyama.



Hinata’s palms become sweaty, his fork sliding out of his grasp slightly as he fumbles for a reply. Something normal, something— “Oh, it’s just my mom and my little sister and I,” he says, and his voice is stilted. He sees Kageyama glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “I’m close with both of them, so it's good.”

If Kageyama’s grandmother notices anything, she doesn't react to it. “That’s wonderful, dear. Families just aren’t as close-knit as they once were…”

She changes the subject, but Hinata’s mind is stuck on it for the rest of the night. Kageyama looks like he wants to say something when he’s seeing Hinata off, but he doesn’t, and for that, Hinata is thankful.

 _Hope you had fun with your friend_ , reads the note on the living room table when he gets home. _Natsu and I went to bed early. Sleep well. Love, Mom._

Hinata climbs up the stairs slowly, with leaden feet. He collapses in his bed, staring at the ceiling, watching the light of passing cars dance across it.

He _can’t_ like Kageyama. He can’t. Kageyama’s his best friend, first of all, and second of all—second of all—he's not like that. He can’t be like that. Maybe he’s a little oblivious sometimes, but he knows what his mother and grandmother say about those types of people, the rumors that float around school—

He doesn't want to be _that_. He doesn’t want to disappoint them, doesn’t want people to hate him, doesn't want to be—like that. (He can’t even think the word.)

 _You’ve never really liked girls, though_ , a traitorous part of his mind whispers. _And you’ve always, always liked Kageyama._

Maybe he has. Maybe so! But that doesn’t mean he needs to acknowledge it or act on it or accept it. He can just file it away and never give it the attention it craves.

/ * \

Some thoughts will find a way to be acknowledged no matter what. His crush—too normal of a word for this—on Kageyama starts cropping up everywhere in every which way: glances that turn into stares because he just likes looking at Kageyama, tingles on his skin wherever they touch for the briefest of moments, stutters whenever Kageyama gets too close (but Hinata wants him closer).

And the worst of it is how his gaze lingers on Kageyama’s lips, wondering what it'd be like to kiss them, how soft they'd be, what it'd be like to kiss his face all over, how cute his reaction would be—

Now that he’s acknowledged it, it’s a flood, a natural disaster he can’t possibly hope to contain. Kageyama would be disgusted with him, not to mention Hinata’s family, the team—

( _But what do_ you _want?_ rings a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Sugawara’s.)

(He wants everyone to like him.)

(But, also, he wants—)

(It doesn’t matter what else he wants.)

Kageyama has been giving Hinata weird looks, lately. Ones that leave an itch on his skin. Does Kageyama know? No way. There’s no way he could and still want to be around Hinata. It’s too gross and unnatural.

(Somehow, though, Hinata likes feeling this way. The fuzziness, the bursts of energy and happiness, liking someone so much that he always wants to be close to them. It’s pure, addicting, and Hinata can’t help but crave it more and more.)

It doesn’t help that Hinata is always with Kageyama. They may not have classes together, but they always eat lunch together, practice together, walk home together, study together, practice together on weekends—and so on. Kageyama’s become a permanent fixture in his life. By no means does Hinata want to change that (selfish, selfish, selfish), but it makes everything difficult, because it means Hinata has no reprieve from him.

It gets worse when Kageyama invites Hinata over to his house, but the worst days are when Hinata actually stays overnight. That’s when those feelings bubble up and threaten to overflow, because, for some reason, whenever Hinata’s over at Kageyama’s house, he starts imagining things, like what it’d be like to live with Kageyama, to be able to see his bedhead every morning, or make breakfast with him, or, and this is horrible, but to actually wake up beside him, their legs all tangled, Kageyama’s gentle breaths gusting along his cheeks.

There are a couple nights where Hinata has to leave early, sometimes even just before they go to bed, making up some excuse about how something came up with his mother or Natsu, because it just becomes _too much_. Kageyama has never commented on it, which makes it weirder, because usually he’d be insulting Hinata left and right about being so fickle. Hinata certainly isn’t going to be the one to bring it up, though.

A comfortable silence hangs over them as they walk home one day. “You’ve been acting weird lately,” Kageyama says. 

It’s not a question, but not an accusation, either. His voice is uncomfortably neutral. 

Hinata stops in his tracks, glancing up at Kageyama. “What d’you mean?” he hedges, proud of the way his voice doesn't shake.

Kageyama heaves a sigh as though he’d been expecting that sort of reply. “Just—you’re all jumpy around me, but only me. You flinch every time I touch you. And you keep making up really bad excuses to not stay over.” At Hinata’s shocked look, he adds, “I’m not an idiot. Of course I’ve noticed. Anyway, there’s those things, but also—”

“Fine, so I’m acting weird,” Hinata says, petulantly, not wanting to hear more evidence of how badly he’s been hiding this. If Kageyama’s asking, he probably hasn’t figured it out. “So what?”

Kageyama blinks at him. “I want to know why, obviously.”

“It’s nothing.” Hinata looks down at his bike, watching the way the sunset glints off the shiny metal. 

“It’s not _nothing_ , dumbass, if you’ve been acting so—so—” The stutter in Kageyama’s voice catches Hinata off-guard, because he’s never heard Kageyama sound so nervous before, not even when they challenged the Grand King. “Is it something I did? That’s… all I want to know.”

Hinata bites the inside of his cheek. Kageyama’s taken it as entirely the opposite of what it means, and he’s probably got it stuck in his head that it’s like middle school all over again.

Hinata hates that he’s the one who’s caused this. It’s one thing to hurt himself, but another thing entirely to hurt Kageyama. Sugawara’s words echo in his head. He’s got to conceal it more, got to work harder, got to…

“It’s fine,” Hinata tells him, forcing strength into his voice. “It’s nothing you did, I promise. I’m just having kind of a rough time, I guess. Nothing I can’t get by!” 

He flashes a smile at Kageyama, but Kageyama only frowns deeply in return. Hinata shrivels under the weight of his gaze. “I’m not an idiot, Hinata,” he says, eventually. “There’s something wrong, and it’s something to do with me. I’m not just going to let you resolve to hide it better and dismiss it because I can’t see it anymore.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“You were.” It’s not an accusation, even now, but just a statement of fact. “I probably wouldn’t have noticed it on my own, but Sugawara-san asked me to keep an eye on you and make sure you weren’t putting others before yourself too much. I didn’t really get what he was asking, at first, but then you and I talked in the clearing, and I realized how hard you push yourself to make others happy.”

Hinata is shocked into silence, biting his lip so hard that he can taste the blood, tangy and metallic. 

“You belong to no one, Hinata. The only person you should be caring about that much is yourself, and you’re an idiot if you haven’t realized that.”

Hinata’s throat hurts. It’s all tight and he’s worried his voice will sound ugly if he tries to speak. He hates how kind the team and Sugawara and Kageyama have been to him. It makes him want to be selfish, makes it feel like it’d be okay to be selfish. 

He wants to tell Kageyama everything. About his family, about liking him. If anyone’s going to accept him, after all, it would be Kageyama. Kageyama wouldn’t hate him for that ugliness swirling around in him, he realizes with certainty. In fact, as he picks away at all the foundations that have held him together for so long, a sweet and traitorous and enticing voice at the back of his mind whispers maybe Kageyama likes him back, and if Kageyama likes him back, then maybe it’s not as ugly as he thought, and maybe—

“Hinata.” Kageyama’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “Are you okay?”

Hinata realizes that he’s crying. He’s sniffling softly, gripping the handlebars of his bike so tight his knuckles are white as bone. “I don’t know,” Hinata tells him.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Kageyama says, dumbly. “I’m sorry.”

“‘S not your fault,” Hinata hiccups. “I just—I dunno. Thank you.” That’s all he can manage to say, really.

“Yeah,” Kageyama says, awkwardly. “Do you—”

“I just need a minute, that’s all. I’m—I’ll be fine.”

This time, he’s not lying.

/ * \

Hinata knocks on his mother’s bedroom door a few nights later. He and Kageyama haven’t talked about that walk home at all, but the two of them have been attached at the hip as usual. Hinata’s come close, oh-so-close, to telling Kageyama how he feels about him, but it doesn’t seem right, not yet. He has someone else he needs to tell first, he thinks.

Hinata hears a soft “come in,” so he gently opens the door and steps inside, closing the door behind him. “I need to talk to you,” he says before he can chicken out.

His mother is sitting at her desk, laptop open on some text editor application. She’s turned to face him. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Hinata fiddles with the hem of his shirt. He hadn’t really planned this out, but it’s been eating him up for the past few days, wanting to be selfish, wanting to be open, wanting to be himself. “Um, so. I guess there’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’ll just spit it out. I’m still me, Mom, okay? Please know that. I still love you, and, um—I think I’m gay.”

He refuses to make eye contact with his mother, still staring down at the hem of his shirt that he hasn’t stopped fidgeting with. There’s dead, dead silence in the room for a moment.

Then there’s a soft hiccup, the same kind of sound Hinata makes whenever he cries. “Oh, Shouyou,” his mother says, empathy so deep in her voice that Hinata hopes against hope for a moment. “I’m so sorry. It must be so difficult for you to be going through that. We can find someone to help you, you know, to fix you—”

Hinata’s hands involuntarily clench into fists. “It’s not—something to fix,” he says, voice tiny. 

“Dear, of course it is. It’s not natural. Young men like you are supposed to find a pretty young girl to date and marry and be happy with—two boys together is unacceptable.”

“But that’s not how I feel,” Hinata tries. “It’s like it’s part of me, like volleyball is. I’ve always felt like there’s something different about me, something that made me not belong, and maybe it’s because I like—”

“Don’t say it again,” his mother tells him with an aggression that Hinata has never heard from her. The blood drains from his face. “Go to your room, Shouyou. We’re not entertaining this.”

Hinata does, almost grateful that he doesn’t have to stay in the same room as her anymore. He darts out of her room and into his, closing the door firmly, locking it for extra measure. He falls face-first into bed, clutching the pillow close against his face, and _cries_. His mind is empty. It’s probably good that he doesn’t have any thoughts racing through his head about how gross or wrong he is.

His tears dry out, eventually. His mother had to have heard him crying, considering they’re just next door to one another, but she hasn’t reacted at all. Hinata isn’t sure how that makes him feel.

Without thinking, he pulls his phone out, the light bright enough that it stings his tired eyes, and stares at Kageyama’s contact. He needs to talk to _someone_. The fear that rushes through his veins at remembering his mother’s suggestion that they “fix” him is enough to make him want to puke. Her reaction in general was more than enough to make him think: maybe she’s right.

He doesn’t mean to call Kageyama, just to text him, but then he hears the dial tone and realizes that he wants to hear Kageyama’s voice right now more than anything. Kageyama picks up on the second ring, and the irritation is clear in his voice. “Hinata, it’s literally 10:30 on a school night. Why are you calling me?”

 

“Um,” Hinata says, and clears his throat. His voice is still raw from crying. “I came out to my mother.”

“Oh,” Kageyama says, a weird inflection to his voice. “How did it… how did it go?”

“Not… well,” Hinata says, hesitantly. “She, like, totally was against it. She offered to get someone to fix me and stuff, and I don’t know, I just feel so—”

“She’s a dumbass.” 

There’s no hesitation, and Hinata balks. “What? She’s my mother, Kageyama—”

“Yeah, and she’s a dumbass. There’s nothing wrong with it. Do you want me to get my grandmother to talk to her? She took me in after my parents kicked me out because of… well.”

Hinata files that information away for later. “Um, I dunno. Maybe. I’m just scared right now and don’t really want to be alone, I guess.”

“Do you want to come over or something?”

“No! No, well, I don’t know—I probably shouldn’t leave. My mother would get really upset, and I don’t know who would take care of Natsu in the morning if I left, ‘cause my mother always sleeps in. Just… stay on the line with me, I guess?”

Kageyama does, without a word of complaint. They talk about everything and nothing until Hinata’s eyes are so heavy he can’t keep them open anymore. When Hinata wakes up the next morning, the call is still going. Kageyama is snoring on the other end, so soft that Hinata doesn’t catch it at first.

/ * \

Hinata and his mother rarely speak for the next few days, dinners being such tense affairs that Natsu looks like she’s about to cry each time. On the fifth night, Natsu stands up in her chair, slamming her tiny hands down on the table, and shouts, “You two need to stop fighting! We’re a _family_ , and families love one another!”

Hinata glances at her in surprise, almost dropping his fork. He’s about to say something when his mother cuts in with, “You wouldn’t understand, Natsu. It’s complicated. But I still do love Shouyou very much.”

Hinata shifts his gaze to his mother, surprise staying etched on his face. He was sure— “And I love our mom, too, Natsu. It’ll be fine, I promise. Just a rough patch, yeah?”

Natsu crosses her arms petulantly. “If you love one another, you should show it better! Hmph!” She jumps down from her chair and runs off to her room, and the door closing resounds throughout the house.

It’s just his mother and him at the table, and Hinata is suddenly filled with a ghastly anxiety. Natsu’s always been there as a buffer between them. He stares down at his plate instead of saying anything.

“I meant what I said, Shouyou. I do still love you, in spite of this. We’ll… we’ll figure out how to fix this.”

“It’s not something to fix,” Hinata says, again, as though it’ll help anything. “How can you say that it’s something to fix when he makes me so happy?”

“ _He_?” His mother says in disbelief. “So there’s someone you’ve—”

“Yeah,” Hinata says. “I mean, we’re not together. But, Mom, you know, I get so— _bwah_ around him and stuff, the same way that volleyball makes me feel, but even better. I get all fuzzy and warm around him, like I just wanna burst, and with him, I feel like I could really make it to the top of the world, you know, and—” He’s rambling, maybe both out of nervousness and desperation, and he should stop, but once Hinata gets started on something, he has to see it through to the end. “I don’t know. I just care about him so much. And seeing this as something bad hurts a lot.”

“You sound like you’re in love with him,” his mother says, carefully, precision to each word.

“What? No! No, there’s no way. I just…”

His mother sighs deeply. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all, Shouyou. But if he makes you happy—all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, Shouyou, to be able to be happier than I was. If… _this_ is how you can be happy, I don’t have the right to stand in your way, no matter how much I disagree.”

“Mom—”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not happy about it at all. But, maybe, if you ever have children, you’ll understand how their being happy takes precedence over everything.”

Hinata nods, quiet and firm. 

“Go ahead and go to your room. I’ll take care of the dishes tonight.” She gives him a smile, tiny, and maybe it’s a little forced, but it’s a start.

Hinata smiles back at her.

/ * \

The air between Hinata and Kageyama the past week or so has been weird and fraught with tension. It’s not a bad kind, but it’s still the kind of tension that jitters across Hinata’s skin and makes him hypersensitive to everything.

Kageyama keeps giving Hinata these longing glances and holding contact a little too long whenever they touch. It reminds Hinata of how he pines after Kageyama, and there’s that traitorous thought again.

One evening, Kageyama suddenly stops at the crossroads they part at, hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets. He’s staring at Hinata with that look in his eyes that he’s had all week, softness and tenderness and hopefulness all mixed together, and Hinata just stares back. 

There’s a long, long silence as Hinata watches the breeze part through Kageyama’s hair like an old friend, the way the sun glints across his bangs. Unbidden, the thought of how much Hinata would like to kiss him enters his mind, seizing his heart so tightly in his chest and making his pulse run a mile a minute. 

“You’ve been looking at me like that all week,” Hinata says, eventually, for lack of anything better to say.

“Yeah,” Kageyama agrees, entirely lacking the argument Hinata expected.

“Why?”

Kageyama breaks eye contact. “You’ve been looking at me the same way.”

In a fit of bravery, Hinata asks, “Are we thinking the same thing, then?”

Kageyama takes a step closer. Hinata wants him to take another, another, and another, until they’re flush against one another. “Maybe we are.”

Hinata reaches out, grasping at Kageyama’s sleeve. Kageyama stares down at Hinata’s hand, as though transfixed by it. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking—” Kageyama’s face is red, red as the sunset behind them, and Hinata loves it. “I’m thinking that I want to kiss you.”

“Me, too,” Hinata breathes, the words intermingling with the breeze and floating somewhere else.

Kageyama leans down, so slowly Hinata’s heart might burst, and presses his lips to Hinata’s, feather-light. Hinata holds onto Kageyama’s sleeve tight as he tries to memorize the feeling, the tiny little sparks going off throughout him, the warmth seeping through him like a kindling fire, and—

Kageyama pulls back, looking into Hinata’s eyes like he was doing the same thing. 

Their shadows are bleeding together into one in the sunset. They’re so close that Kageyama’s gentle breaths graze against his cheeks, and Hinata holds Kageyama’s gaze, unafraid, unashamed.

“I like you,” Kageyama says. “The real you, the one that stands on his own.”

Hinata believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, so many thanks to my sweetheart [luci](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferTM/pseuds/luciferTM) for taking the time to beta this. this was a monster and i appreciate your time and effort so much!!
> 
> GOSH this was so interesting to explore and i really hope it touched you the same way it touched me to write. please, please feel free to leave a comment, constructive criticism or otherwise, or reach out to me on [twitter @queeenmab](https://twitter.com/queeenmab)! i would love to hear your thoughts or to talk to you about kageyama/hinata/kagehina in general! :-) thank you so much for reading, and have a lovely day!


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